Galathon's Robe
by JennyJoy4
Summary: The dreamer Galathon and his older brothers don't exactly get along, especially after they sell him into slavery to the Avari. But perhaps he can still save his family when famine threatens. The story may seem oddly familiar...
1. The Sons of Seidiron, Called Maethon

There once was an elf named Seidiron, called Maethon who, along with his wife Taulaes, was blessed with six sons: Ôlion, Lathron, Eglerion, Hallon, Galathon, and Fairion, whom his mother called Trestion. Taulaes had died giving birth to Fairion, and Galathon was only thirty years of age at the time. So their father lavished special care upon these two youngest of his sons, and their brothers said, Our father loves them best.

Now Seidiron lived in the land of his father, on the eastern edge of Greenwood the Great. Galathon would ride out hunting with his elder brothers. One day, as they rode through the forest, the brothers spied a doe amongst the trees.

"Do not kill it," Galathon advised his brothers. "It is spring; she may have fauns." But his brothers paid no heed of him, and urged Lathron on to shoot it, which he did. Galathon looked through the trees and spied a faun there, surely the doe's young. He was distressed by the heartless actions of his brothers, and when they returned from the hunt, he brought his father a bad report of them.

Seidiron was displeased with his elder sons for their callous behavior, and called them before him.

"Galathon has told me of your dishonorable actions in the forest," he told them disapprovingly. "He advised you well, and you paid him no heed. Therefore he will be honored, and you will not." And Seidiron had a richly ornamented robe made for Galathon. It was shot through with many colors of threads, and embellished with wonderful designs in embroidery. And set upon it were gems that flashed like living stars among its folds. When Galathon's brothers saw that their father had honored him more than any of them, they conceived a great dislike for him in their hearts and could not speak a kind word to him.

This is the account of Galathon.

**TBC**

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AN:** Gen 35:16-18, 23-26; 37:1-4 


	2. The First Dream

Galathon's eyes flew open. The sunlight was shining in the window of his room, and the birds were singing in the trees outside, but these things didn't immediately enter his consciousness.

His heart was jumping in his chest. The words his mother had once spoken to him sounded in his ear:

_Your father named your eldest brother Ôlion, but you, my son, might perhaps be more worthy of that name, for you will have the vision of Irmo._

_What do you mean?_

_You shall be a lord of visions and of dreams; visions you shall see and visions you shall interpret. And yet, your father name you shall also fulfill, for you will bring increase to your family_.

Galathon yanked back his covers and leapt out of bed. He barely paused long enough to throw on some leggings and a tunic and run a comb through his sleep-tangled locks. He raced out to the kitchen, where his brothers sat breaking their fast. Their father had not yet joined them at the table.

"It has finally happened!" he cried joyfully, "I have had a dream!"

There was silence for a moment, and then his brothers began to chuckle. "If you have never had a dream before now, brother," Hallon said dryly, "I believe there may be something wrong with you."

Galathon shook his head impatiently. "No, not like that!" he exclaimed. "A vision. A prophetic dream. That is what I have had!"

His brothers rolled their eyes, but Galathon didn't notice, being busy shoveling food onto his plate. His excitement had given him a hearty appetite.

"Well? Do not keep us in suspense," Lathron finally said when Galathon spent a few minutes filling his stomach. "What have you dreamed that has you so excited?"

Galathon swallowed his bite of bacon. "We were out in the forest, gathering bundles of sticks for firewood," he said, his eyes shining. "Each of us had made a bundle. And suddenly, my bundle of sticks rose upright and moved to the center of the clearing, and your bundles all formed a circle around it, and bowed down to it."

This pronouncement was met with dark looks all around the tables as his older brothers exchanged angered glances.

"Do you intend to reign over us?" Eglerion burst out, infuriated.

"Will you actually _rule_ us?" Hallon added.

Galathon shrank backward in his chair. He had not thought of how his brothers might take it if he told them his dream. Their reactions made him nervous and embarrassed. Had his dream been wrong? He knew his brothers were not very fond of him. Now, perhaps, they would dislike him even more.

He pushed his plate away, and stood up. He could feel his brothers' eyes following him as he swiftly and silently left the kitchen.

After a moment, motion resumed in the room. None of the brothers looked at one another, too deep in thought. Yes, they hated Galathon even more now—partly because of the perceived arrogance of his claim, and partly of a real fear each of them had that his dream really was a true vision.

Galathon felt unshed tears choke his throat as he paced quickly down the corridor. His brothers' reaction saddened him. He recalled a time when he was younger when they would play with him and pick him up and toss him in the air until he shrieked with glee. But things had changed ever since their mother's death, and since the issue with the robe his father had given him. Galathon loved that symbol of his father's love and favor and wore it proudly, but there were times he wished his father had never given it to him—or that he had never said a word to their father about the doe. But he had just imagined how the fawn would feel when its mother was taken—bewildered, barely understanding the loss, just as he had been when Ôlion had woken him in the middle of the night to tell him their mother had died…

So deep in thought and memory was he that he nearly stumbled over a small figure in his path.

"Careful, Galathon!" a piping voice called out, "you'll step on me!"

Galathon smiled down at Fairion. The little one had the white-blond hair of all their kin, and the green eyes. But he (and Galathon himself, he had been told) had most of all their mother's face and her tender spirit. Their older brothers were more like their father, neri of action and of struggle.

"I would never step on you, Fairion," Galathon said, keeping his voice cheerful, "you are growing far too tall!" He measured his little brother's height on himself, bringing his hand up much higher than Fairion's head. "By the stars! You are nearly to my shoulder!"

Fairion giggled. "No, I'm not!" He stood on tiptoe and tried to reach Galathon's shoulder with his fingers. Galathon picked his brother up and swooped him into the air, as Ôlion had once done. Fairion shrieked with delight as his older brother swung him in a wide circle.

When he had managed to stop giggling, Fairion threw his arms around Galathon's neck. "Love you," he said, giving his brother a sticky kiss on the cheek.

Galathon kissed him back. "I love you, too," he said firmly, "and I always will."

**TBC**

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AN:** Gen 37:5-8 

_Father-name_: "This is the manner in which the naming of children was achieved among the Noldor. Soon after birth the child was named. It was the right of the father to devise this first name, and he it was that announced it to the child's kindred upon either side. It was called, therefore, the father-name, and it stood first, if other names were afterwards added. It remained unaltered, for it lay not in the choice of the child… 'There was another source of the variety of names borne by any one of the Eldar, which in the reading of their histories may to us seem bewildering. This was found in the Anessi: the given (or added) names. Of these the most important were the so-called 'mother-names'. Mothers often gave to their children special names of their own choosing. The most notable of these were the 'names of insight', essi tercenye, or of 'foresight', apacenye. In the hour of birth, or on some other occasion of moment, the mother might give a name to her child, indicating some dominant feature of its nature as perceived by her, or some foresight of its special fate.' These names had authority, and were regarded as true names when solemnly given, and were public not private if placed (as was sometimes done) immediately after the father-name. "—Laws and Customs of the Eldar. Galathon's family is Silvan (that is, Nandorin), but the article implies that this rule of naming remains the same amongst all kindreds of the Eldar. So the family all go by their father-names, although Fairion's mother-name, given at birth, is Trestion ("son of trouble"), and Taulaes indicated that she might have given Galathon the mother-name Ôlion if it weren't already his brother's father-name. Seidiron's extra name, Maethon, is sort of a nickname.

_neri_: males. This is like saying, "_men_ of action".

Galathon is 40, which would make him about the stature and maturity of a 17-year-old human. Fairion is 10, which is the equivalent, probably, of about five. Their older brothers are all adults, that is, all over 50 or 100 years old.

"Also the Eldar say that in the begetting, and still more in the bearing of children, greater share and strength of their being, in mind and in body, goes forth than in the making of mortal children… Yet it would seem to any of the Eldar a grievous thing if a wedded pair were sundered during the bearing of a child, or while the first years of its childhood lasted."—The Laws and Customs Among the Eldar


	3. The Second Dream

Galathon gave his brothers a little time to cool down after the incident. He tried to act as if nothing were bothering him so that his father and his aunt Mudanwen, who was helping Seidiron to raise him and Fairion, would suspect nothing. His older brothers were, of course, careful to treat him with respect in their father and aunt's presence.

For a few months, things carried on as usual. Galathon played with Fairion, rode about his father's land, and even went out hunting once with his brothers, although he did not enjoy it as he once had, for his brothers' rudeness to him.

But eventually, he had another dream. The similarity between this one and the first troubled him, and he went down to breakfast very subdued.

When he reached the kitchen, he realized he had been the last to rise. All five of his brothers were already at the table, as well as his father and Mudanwen. They all greeted him—his father and aunt cheerfully, his older brothers respectfully, and Fairion joyously. Smiling at the small child, Galathon took his seat between his littlest brother and Hallon.

He was quiet throughout the meal, lost in thought. Finally, he realized that someone was saying his name.

"Oh. Yes?" he said, looking up to see his father watching him with amusement, mixed with concern.

"Why are you so preoccupied, my son?" Seidiron asked. "What is troubling you?"

"Nothing. Just…" Galathon could not lie to his father. "I had a dream last night."

His father did not doubt what kind of dream his son meant. "What did you dream?" he asked gently.

Galathon opened and shut his mouth again. He knew that if told his family, they would quite possibly be upset—his older brothers certainly would. But he would not disobey his father, nor lie to him.

"I—I dreamed that the sun and moon and five stars were bowing down to me," he said quietly and clearly.

His brothers exchanged glances once again. "What does it mean?" Fairion asked with curiosity.

"The same as the other," Eglerion muttered. Seidiron looked at him sharply, wondering what he meant, but Eglerion didn't notice. "He thinks he will rule us one day."

Seidiron felt anger stir within him. "What? Will your aunt and I and your five brothers actually come and bow down to the ground before you?" His older brothers shook their heads in anger, glad that their father was finally taking Galathon in hand. Galathon bowed his head before his father's rebuke. Mudanwen and Fairion were still, watching—Mudanwen with her lips pressed into a tight line, Fairion with wide eyes.

"Have you no respect for your father? For Mudanwen? For your elder brothers?" He shook his head in disappointment and stood from the table. "Come," he said to his four oldest, "there is work to be done today."

They all left the table. Galathon leaned his elbows on the table and put his face in his hands. After a few still moments, he felt a tug on his sleeve and looked down through swimming eyes at the face of his little brother. Fairion stood on his chair to whisper in Galathon's ear. "_I _believe you," he said. Then he got down and ran after Mudanwen. Galathon watched him go.

000

In the late afternoon, there was a knock at Seidiron's door, and he looked up from the parchments on his desk. "Come in," he called.

Galathon slowly opened the door and walked in. Seidiron, expressionless, turned in his chair to observe his son. Galathon dropped his gaze to the floor and fidgeted.

"Well?" his father finally said.

"I am sorry I disappointed you this morning," Galathon said humbly. "I meant no disrespect to you or Mudanwen or my brothers."

Seidiron sighed, then stood and approached Galathon, stopping before him. "Was that truly what you dreamed?" he asked quietly. Galathon looked up. His father did not look angry. He could not tell what he was thinking.

"Yes, it was," he confirmed.

"And do you believe that it means the thing your brothers said?"

Galathon nodded grimly.

Seidiron pressed his lips together in a gesture reminiscent of his sister, and his own father before them. "I do not disbelieve you, my son," he said finally. Galathon, who had dropped his eyes again, looked up at him, startled. "I was the younger brother, and yet I received the birthright of the first son," he explained slowly. "My brother Fastros held the honor of our family in such low esteem that he sold his birthright to me, and I ruled over my elder brother, as my mother had foreseen that I would. Sometimes Ilúvatar chooses to work in his creation in unexpected ways." Seidiron put his hand on his son's shoulder. "Perhaps even your dream shall come to pass."

Galathon leaned forward and put his arms around his father. Seidiron hugged him back and kissed the top of his head.

They would both remember the conversation in years to come.

**TBC**

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AN:** Gen 37:9-11 (also 25:23, 25:29-34, 26:29) 

**crazycatluver**: Yes indeedy!

**Laer4572**: Thanks!

**Princess Siara**: Thank you for catching me on that! I fixed it.


	4. Descent into the Pit

Some time later, Galathon's older brothers went out on an extended hunting trip on the plains east of the forest. One morning, Seidiron called Galathon into his room.

"I am going to send you to find your brothers," he told him. "They have been gone a long time. I want to make sure that all is well with them, and that they have found game. Will you go and find them, and then bring word back to me?"

Galathon nodded, excited. This was the first time his father had sent him out on that long a journey by himself.

Seidiron smiled at his son's obvious enthusiasm. "Go on, then," he said.

So Galathon raced out and put on the beautiful robe his father had given him, packed a few provisions for the three-day journey, and fetched his horse from the stables and bridled her. Then, bidding his father and aunt and brother Fairion a cheerful farewell, he set out east down the road.

He rested that night beneath the shade of the trees, the gems on his robe flashing as did the stars through the canopy of leaves above him.

Galathon rode out of the forest the next morning and into the free sunlight of the Celduin valley. But his brothers were nowhere in sight.

Riding down the plain, he met another elf. "What are you looking for, Penneth, in your best clothes?" he asked him in a friendly manner.

Smiling, Galathon halted his horse and leaned his hands on his knees. "I am searching for my four brothers, who came out here hunting. I don't suppose you have seen a hunting party pass through here?"

"Yes, indeed I have," the ellon answered. "They moved on from here and traveled along the river."

Galathon thanked him and set off again. After an hour or so, he saw them in the distance, and rode in their direction.

000

"If our bad luck continues like this," Eglerion said to Ôlion, his eyes laughing, "we shall have to tell your betrothed that you are no good as a hunter, and you scared all the game away."

Ôlion rolled his eyes, but couldn't hide his grin. "Be quiet, or I shall push you into one of these traps," he said, gesturing at the deep pits in the ground left by other hunters before them. "She knows I can hunt well enough."

Simeon had begun to laugh as well, and Ôlion turned on him. "And what of you? Perhaps it was _your_ presence that frightened the game—or so we could tell your elleth!"

Simeon grinned back. "She would not believe you."

Ôlion was about to retort, when he heard Hallon's grunt of irritation. "Lovely," he said under his breath.

"What?"

"Here comes the Dream-Master," Hallon said, pointing upriver. They all looked, and sure enough, they could see Galathon riding toward them, his beautiful robe winking in the sun.

"We should be rid of him," Eglerion said. "That dream of his will never come true." It was a conversation the four brothers had had many times.

"Come now," Lathron said in a low voice, "let's kill him and throw him into one of these traps and say he was eaten by a wild animal. Then we will see what comes of all his dreams!"

His three brothers were silent for a moment. Lathron had finally voiced the thing that had entered all of their minds many times in the past year.

Eglerion and Hallon nodded.

Ôlion felt a great confusion rise up in him. He was, after all, the eldest, and he felt responsible for his younger brother. But then, if he objected, his three brothers would gang up on him.

"Let's not take his life," he said finally. "We do not want his blood on our hands. Throw him in the pit and let him starve out here in the wild, but do not lay a hand on him." His brothers agreed._ Later, I will come back and rescue him, and take him back to his father_, Ôlion thought.

"Hail, brothers!" Galathon called joyfully as he approached them. "Father sent me to see if all were well with you." As he drew near them, his four brothers dismounted from their horses. So he pulled up and did the same. He opened his mouth to continue, but he never got the chance.

Lathron and Eglerion darted forward and seized him, and Hallon roughly pulled off his ornamented coat.

"Wha—what are you doing?" Galathon cried. Lathron was holding his arms behind his back and steadily pushing him forward. Suddenly, there was empty air beneath his feet, and he fell.

The jolt of his landing stunned him for a moment. His ankle began to throb where had landed on it. What had happened?

Looking up, he could see the faces of his brothers, staring down at him. He was in one of the hunters' pits!

With a struggle, he found his voice. "Why do you do this?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"If you starve in the wilderness, what will come of your dreams?" Lathron said coldly.

Terror made Galathon's stomach clench. "Oh, no. Please, no! Do not leave me here to die!" He could see himself, very slowly wasting away and weakening, going mad with thirst and solitude in the dark pit… "No, please! My brothers! Do not leave me here! _Please_ don't leave me!"

But they all turned and walked away, and he could no longer see nor hear them. Galathon sank to his knees, shaking, his eyes wide with fear. "Please…"

**TBC**

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AN:** Gen 37:12-24 

Thank you to all of my reviewers!


	5. Out of the Frying Pan

Galathon's brothers moved a little distance away from the pit so that they couldn't hear his pleas. Ôlion volunteered to go out and check all the other pits in the area to see if they had caught anything.

As it was about noon, the other three sat down to eat. Partway through the meal, Hallon, who had the sharpest hearing, looked up.

"Look who is coming," he said, gesturing upriver.

It was a caravan of _bachyr_—peddlers. Their wagons were loaded up with goods from Dale, Esgaroth and the Greenwood, headed downriver to Dorwinion.

Eglerion was struck with an idea. "We will not gain anything by killing our brother and covering up our guilt. Why don't we sell him to the _bachyr_? It is better than killing him—after all, he is our brother, our own flesh and blood."

Lathron and Hallon nodded. It was indeed a better idea. As the caravan approached, the brothers stood and hailed them.

"Well met, men of Dorwinion," Eglerion called.

"Well met, _Nandorin _of Greenwood," the foremost of the _bachyr_ replied courteously. "Out on the hunt?"

"Yes, although at the moment, we are interested in another kind of business," Eglerion said. "We have a young elf to dispose of, and wondered if you would be interested in a little commerce."

The _bachor_ looked interested. "I could perhaps take him off your hands for you," he said cautiously. "Is he healthy?"

"Have you ever heard of an elf that wasn't?" Lathron said innocently.

The _bachor_ laughed. "No, indeed. Let me see this young one."

000

Galathon sat huddled against the earthy side of the pit. His cries had ceased to bring any reaction from his brothers, and he assumed they could not hear him anymore. He shook pitiably with fear and despair.

Suddenly there was a noise, and he looked up. Someone had tossed a rope over the edge of the pit! Hallon's voice spoke: "Hold on to the rope."

Galathon did so eagerly, and his brother pulled him up. When he was standing on the open ground again, he forced his trembling knees to hold him up. Looking around for his other brothers, he found them talking to a number of _bachyr_. Hallon took hold of his arm and marched him over. Galathon wanted to ask what was going on, but he didn't trust his voice just yet.

"Here he is," Hallon said to a man who looked to be the leader of the _bachyr_.

"Ah," the man said, striding over. He looked Galathon up and down appraisingly. Galathon looked at his brothers with fear and bewilderment, but none of them would meet his eyes. "Yes," the _bachor_ said finally, "very well. I will give you eight ounces of silver for him."

Galathon found his voice. "What?—my brothers…"

"Be quiet," Lathron said to him, and Galathon obeyed, partly out of shock.

While the leader was settling with Eglerion, one of the other _bachyr_ tied Galathon's hands before him and ran a rope from them to the back of one of the wagons. As he watched, the leader finished paying Eglerion, then gestured to Galathon's richly embroidered robe, which was bundled over Eglerion's horse's saddle.

"What about that coat? 'Twould be worth a pretty fee."

Eglerion shook his head. "We have need of that."

"Ah well," the merchant said, and shook his hand.

"Hey, boy," said the _bachor_ who had just finished tying his hands. Galathon looked up at him, white-faced. The _bachor_ smiled kindly at him. "Don't shake so; we won't hurt you."

Galathon bit his lip but made no answer.

000

Ôlion returned over the hills to his brothers. He needed to inform them that one of the traps had two deer in it.

He saw them a little way before him, sitting on the ground, finishing up their short meal. They hadn't yet taken any notice of him, so he rode quickly over to the pit they had thrown Galathon in and looked over the edge, intending to check on him.

He didn't believe his eyes at first, and blinked a few times. But the image was the same—the pit was empty. Galathon was gone.

He kicked his horse into a canter and pulled up next to his brothers. "Where is Galathon?" he asked angrily.

"We sold him to some _bachyr_ headed to Dorwinion," Eglerion said, surprised.

Ôlion's shoulders slumped, and he turned his face away from his brothers. "What can I do now?" he whispered.

000

When they killed the deer in the pity, the brothers dipped Galathon's fine robe into the blood of the animal. Then, with their kill, they returned home.

Ôlion dreaded the reunion with his father. When the four brothers pulled up in the courtyard, Seidiron came out to greet them. He called them each by name and embraced them. Ôlion felt sick to his stomach.

"But where is Galathon?" he asked, as Mudanwen and Fairion joined the reunion. "I sent him out to you."

Ôlion pressed his lips together and took a bundle off his horse. "We found this in the forest," he said, handing it to his father. "Examine it—is it Galathon's?"

Seidiron undid the bundle and shook out Galathon's robe. The gems still flashed in the sun, but the embroidery was all stained with blood.

Seidiron could not help but recognize it; no one could. He stood very still. "It is my son's," he said, his voice low. He stumbled backward; Ôlion moved forward to catch him if he fell. Seidiron's hands closed spasmodically on the material and he held it close to him, as if it were the body of his son. "It is his robe. Some wild animal has eaten him. Your brother has surely been torn to pieces!"

The four brothers couldn't look at one another, confronted with their father's grief. Stumbling backwards again, Seidiron stopped and leaned on the doorframe, and wept.

**TBC**

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AN:** Gen 37:25-33 

Thanks to everyone who reviewed!


	6. A Father's Grief

The wagons began to move again, and Galathon stumbled forward with them. He was all a jumble of thoughts and emotions. A great weight of sorrow pressed down on him—for the callous treatment he had received at the hands of his brothers, for the uncertain and frightening future he faced as a slave, for his father and aunt and youngest brother when they learned of his disappearance.

He carried on, toiling after the _bechyr_, watching the ground go past without really seeing it.

"_Edhel_," a voice spoke. He looked up.

It was the _bachor_ who had spoken to him earlier. He rode in the back of the wagon amongst the wares, and now he sat backwards to speak to the young slave who was now his charge.

He was swarthy, with dirty blond hair bleached in the sun, and hazel eyes that held a smile. He was dressed like all the _bechyr_, in a strange hybrid of styles, mixing inferior material with fine, decorated with dwarven, elven, and human motifs.

"Are you thirsty, Elf? Do you need water?" he asked. Galathon shook his head mutely and dropped his gaze. After a moment, the _bachor_ tried again. "My name is Istvan," he said. "What's yours?"

"Galathon," he answered quietly, "son of Seidiron." The words burned within his heart—he was a slave now; he had no father any longer.

He could not bear the thought just yet, and so he asked, "I am to be sold in Dorwinion?"

"Nay, not Dorwinion," Istvan answered. "We have people enough to tend the vineyards of our fair city. You go to the Quendi of Íjhapto. They need slaves to dig the irrigation ditches and make bricks for their palaces."

Íjhapto. Galathon had heard the name before. The elves who lived there were true Avari—the unwilling. They had never traveled to the west—nor even started out and turned back as Galathon's own people, the Nandor, had done. It was spoken in Greenwood that the Quendi of Íjhapto were a strange people, with strange ways. They did not live close to the animals, as the Nandor did, nor even as their distant cousins, the Avari of the north. They built as did the men of the south, of Khand. They farmed a fertile land, watered by ditches dug into the Sea of Rhûn. The city of Henaten stood on the southeastern banks and was the capital of a large series of settlements and cities stretching southward and east along a series of wells and lakes connected by a canal that provided water for their farming. The cities were prosperous from trade with Dorwinion and all of those men's contacts in the north, as well as the cities of the Variags of Khand whose culture they so much resembled.

"They do not speak Sindarin there," Istvan added. "They speak their own noble variety of the tongue of Khand. You must learn it if you are to work there—or to do any work in the house rather than the fields."

Yes. A farm-laborer would not need to speak the language so well, but a servant of the household would. A sudden desire took Galathon to be a house-slave rather than a field-slave. It was not much—the difference between one position of little honor and one of little more, but it would be something. A goal—something for him to live for—to concentrate on, that he might not dwell on his pain while the wound was still so fresh.

"Do you speak it?" he asked the _bachor_, who was watching his expression closely.

"Aye, a bit—enough to get on there when I must, at least," Istvan admitted.

"Would you teach it to me?"

Istvan regarded him with surprise, then laughed. "You're an eager one, young Galathon," he said, impressed.

"Young?" Galathon repeated, cocking his head to one side.

"Very well, you are most likely older than me," Istvan conceded, but not full-grown yet."

"No—I am but forty-two," Galathon stated.

"Well, a mere ten years my senior, then!" Istvan said, leaning back comfortably. He regarded Galathon with a thoughtful expression. "You really want to learn Íjhapton?" Galathon nodded eagerly. Istvan nodded. "Very well. We can begin at once."

000

Ôlion bade his betrothed goodbye and watched her ride away, headed toward her parents' house. Lathron came to stand beside him and watched the elleth until she disappeared around a curve of the road.

"Had she no success either?" he asked. Ôlion shook his head. "Neither had Ornwen," Lathron admitted. They stood staring down the empty road a minute, then turned as if by one consent and headed back toward the stable yard.

"If not for Fairion's sake, I think he would lose him," Ôlion admitted quietly.

Indeed, Seidiron had said as much when he and Nethiel had come in to see him.

Nethiel, with her warm heart, ran to him and knelt on the floor beside her father-in-law's chair, flinging her arms about him. But Seidiron had turned his face away to hide the tear that slid down his cheek.

"Can you not even spare me a smile, Father?" Nethiel had asked, heartbroken not for his treatment of her, but for his own pain. "Will you not smile again?"

"No," Seidiron said, though he put his arm around her shoulders. "If not for Fairion, I would set my _fëa_ free and fly to Mandos to my son."

Ôlion could hardly bear to see his father's grief. And Fairion, crying so whenever Mudanwen did, crying for the parting he so little understood. All he knew was that his big brother Galathon would never again toss him in the air or kiss him at bedtime. Ôlion felt guilt gnaw at him that he had ever allowed his brothers to put Galathon in that pit in the first place. He was eldest, and responsible. He should have stood up and been a leader to them. But he had failed them and his father—and most of all, he had failed Galathon.

Lathron would never admit it, but he and the others had felt the culpability of it weighing on them as well. One evening when Ôlion had been with Mudanwen and Fairion trying to comfort their father, the three of them had sat in the kitchen in uncomfortable and guilty silence.

"Perhaps—" Eglerion said, his voice sounding small and thin in the quiet, "perhaps we should tell him—or ride to Dorwinion, and—"

"No," Lathron had snapped. His own fear and guilt made him angry. "We resolved to do it, and we have. What, should we pain Adar further by telling him his own sons sold their brother for eight ounces of silver? No, let it be." And none of them had voiced the suggestion since.

The family carried on as best they could. The older brothers went mutely about their tasks. Fairion was quiet as a mouse. Mudanwen became irritable as she tried to do everything at once. And Seidiron slipped out of his own room every night and lay down on the bed of his lost son until morning.

**TBC**

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AN:** Gen. 37:34-35 

Turns out the plural of _bachor_ is _bechyr_. Whoops…

**trecebo**: Thanks. It's kind of hard to make them good guys and bad guys at the same time…

**Princess Siara**: Oopsie. Yep—Íjhapto, which would be pronounced eezh-HAP-toe. It's a good thing that part of Tolkein's map gets a bit blank, and I can play with it as I will… The Variags of Khand are canon, tho.

**Erasuithiel**: Thanks!

**Please review!**


	7. Journey to Dorwinion

The journey to Dorwinion was several weeks, and on the very first day, Galathon learned what it was to be a slave.

The traders did not stop until close to nightfall. In mid-afternoon, Istvan ate a bit of bread and gave Galathon some, as well, which he ate with bound hands.

Even when camp was made and dinner prepared, Galathon's hands were only untied long enough to allow him to eat in a little east. At this time, Istvan and another of the _bechyr_ sat on either side of him, watching that he didn't escape.

"You see," Istvan said not unkindly when he saw Galathon's uneasiness, "we can't have you escaping—and an elf like you, why, if you decided to start running, we couldn't catch you on our own two feet."

"Istvan," the leader said, fixing the younger man with a look. Istvan did not look exactly intimidated, but he immediately fell silent. Apparently, the _bachor_ was worried Istvan was giving Galathon ideas.

000

They tied his hands again before bedding down for the night—which would be uncomfortable, but not unbearable. The head _bachor_ approached him and landed him a blanket. Galathon regarded him with surprise, then thanked him. Honestly, he probably wouldn't need it—elves not feeling the cold as men do—but it would be a comfort anyway, and a comfort unlooked-for.

He had observed one or two of the men wandering off behind one of the wagons and returning looking more comfortable. Istvan was bedding down next to him, and Galathon caught his attention, indicating the nearest wagon meaningfully. Istvan nodded and rose, and he stood just around the corner of the wagon while Galathon relieved himself. Then they both went back to turn in for the night, and Istvan tied a rope from Galathon's hands to the wagon in such a way that Galathon wouldn't be able to free himself without alerting the man on watch.

000

Galathon awoke in the middle of the night, breathing hard. While he had wandered in dreams, the memory had come to him of the rough handling of his brothers—the sudden stomach-turning drop into the pit, the terror and despair of knowing he would be there alone in the dark until the end of his days…

His eyes snapped fully open in the starlight and he lay there for a moment, trying to slow his breathing. Careful of his bound hands, he rolled over onto his side. Istvan lay next to him, the low flames of the campfire reflecting peach light on his face and his closed eyes.

Galathon's heart jumped in his chest for a moment, until he remembered that humans slept with their eyes shut. Istvan was alright, then, only asleep.

Galathon turned his eyes up to the spangled heavens above him. "Ah, Elbereth," he breathed, so quietly that none of the men could hear him, "shine down on me in this black pit."

000

Elbereth did indeed seem to be lending him her aid in the next few weeks as they trudged ever closer to Dorwinion. Galathon learned Íjhapton so quickly and so well that Istvan had soon taught him all he knew and called on some of the other _bechyr_ to supply the gaps in his knowledge. They agreed, not appearing displeased. They had come to rather like the elf they had bought, who was so polite to them and never surly, as many slaves (understandably) tended to be. At the end of the first week, one of their horses had started at something and become rather wild. Luckily no one was riding him at the time, but he had wares on his back, and it looked for a moment like he would run off with them. Galathon noticed the commotion from his place further up the line, and instantly called back some calming words of his own tongue. The horse paused, and pricked his ears up. Then, to the _bechyr's_ amazement, he trotted right up to Galathon and nuzzled his cheek, snuffling in his ear. The young elf laughed a low laugh and stroked the velvety nose with his bound hands, murmuring to the creature.

"Here," he said to one of the astonished _bechyr_, "he is quite calm now."

"So he is," the _bachor_ said, slowly taking the reins. "I'll be. You have quite a way with horses, young 'un."

Galathon smiled at the compliment, but shrugged. The _bechyr_ all knew that most elves had that same "way" with animals, and what the man was really saying was that he was surprised that a slave would help his captors out that way, saving their horse and the wares it carried. Though not in so many words, it was a thank you, and Galathon appreciated it.

For a slave, he led a bit of a charmed life after that incident. The _bechyr_ were much more likely to talk to him in a friendly manner—although they were very careful not to let their guard down or give him any extra chances to escape.

Galathon didn't mind. He knew that was how it must be, and did not resent them for it. There was a smile and a friendly word for him every day, and that was enough for him. And they were teaching him Íjhapton at such a pace that a week before they reached Dorwinion, he could carry on a conversation with Istvan in it, albeit in a rather broken and halting manner. His Íjhapton was definitely intelligible, for all that, and Istvan seemed satisfied with his progress.

"I'd be puffin' myself up like a rooster if I didn't know it was your own hard work and not my teaching that has brought you so far," he said.

000

One morning, Istvan woke Galathon with the news that they would reach Dorwinion that day.

"Ah, how I want to smell the gardens of Dorwinion again, and see my girl waiting at the door of her father's house," Istvan said, waxing sentimental. Galathon felt some unease. If they were nearing Dorwinion, then he would soon be taken to Íjhapto, where he would be sold.

But dark thoughts left his mind as they drew near to Dorwinion. The gardens there were beautiful indeed, and fertile. Field after field of vegetables and flowers went by, set amongst the endless vineries. The men and women of Dorwinion could be seen working in their fields as the caravan passed. Some of them waved to the _bechyr_ or hailed them merrily in their own language.

They reached the heart of the city at noon—if it could be called a city. It was more a village, as the dwellings of the Dorwinions were spread out amongst their fields. But there was a bustling marketplace, and Galathon could see that the people of Dorwinion had become rich in their trade.

The caravan stopped outside a large building where, Galathon was informed, the head _bachor_ lived and ran his business. Istvan took him inside and showed him to the room he'd be staying in for the night.

"And now I'm off to see my girl!" he said happily.

"You will be coming back tomorrow?" Galathon asked anxiously.

"Of course! Íjhapto is part of the round-trip; it's in my contract." He looked at Galathon curiously. "You almost sound as if you'd miss me."

"I would," Galathon said sincerely. Istvan had been consistently kind to him on the road, and Galathon had come to rely on his company.

"Well, my goodness," Istvan declared in amazement, "who would have believed it!" But Galathon could tell he was flattered.

**TBC**

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AN:**

**trecebo**: Larry… lol Yeah, sorry about that. I wrote that chapter whilst in Indiana, with no internet access, so I couldn't look up a good name for him. Larry was his working name, which I went through and replaced with Istvan, but I must've missed that one… Thanks for catching it! I fixed it.

**Thalion**: Thanks!

**Please review!**


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